


Thrift

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22489543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Aragorn sorts old clothes.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 6
Kudos: 153





	Thrift

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Sometimes the shop is full to bursting—like last Saturday, when no less than thirteen dwarves exploded through the always-open doors—and other times, it’s so empty that one could hear even a hobbit’s footsteps all the way across the store. Of course it’s better to be busy—most of their profits go straight to charity, but they have to actually _have_ profits to do that, and a business that gave back was the whole reason Aragorn bought the building in the first place. But the nice thing about purely empty days is it finally gives him a chance to go through the ever-mounting donations. He can leave the register to Gimli, the isles to Legolas, and he can crowd into the back and start sorting through the mass of fresh-washed clothes. Washing is automatic: sorting happens when there’s time. Quite a few things have to, unfortunately, go straight into the garbage—they can’t sell jackets full of moth holes or printed tees with offensive slogans. Plenty go into the ‘repair’ bin—he’ll take them home himself and mend the seams and zippers. Others go onto the rack, and he really does try to keep them organized by type. 

He’s obviously failed, because Legolas inevitably drifts over, and instead of coming right to Aragorn, he gravitates towards the rack and starts slotting things into different places. Aragorn surrenders to his wisdom: as a general rule, elves have better fashion taste. Legolas must know what he’s doing, because he _always_ looks good, although that might just be because he’s absolutely beautiful and could make a potato sack look fresh off the Lothlórien runway. Aragorn keeps track of that beauty in his peripherals. 

Legolas pulls out a long, flowing green dress and holds it against himself, humming, “What do you think, Aragorn? Does it suit me?”

Aragorn really tries to make a proper judgment. But when he imagines Legolas crowing into the cramped changing room and stripping bare, it’s hard to imagine him putting anything back on. Aragorn determines, “Try it on during your break, and we’ll see.”

Legolas tilts his head and asks, “How much will you sell it for?”

Midrange, Aragorn thinks—it’s in decent condition and looks nice enough, but it’s nothing fancy. Legolas could certainly afford it. But Aragorn finds himself offering anyway, “I’ll buy it for you, if you like it.”

Legolas smiles. The warmth in his expression says that he could absolutely buy it if he wanted—he could buy the entire building—but he likes it when Aragorn treats him, and he loves wearing things to work that Aragorn has picked out or paid for or even helped get him into. The dress has a lace-up back that Aragorn wouldn’t mind untying. 

“It’s too plain,” Gimli barks as he pops up at Legolas’ side—he has far more elaborate tastes than them, because he appreciates ‘good old Dwarven embroidery.’ Legolas holds the dress at arm’s length and seems to reconsider it. Gimli rolls right on, “Your father’s on the phone again.” His tone of voice says it all. Aragorn preemptively sighs.

Eyes still on the dress, Legolas asks, “What does he want?” As though Thranduil doesn’t want the exact same thing every time he calls.

“What else? For you to give up this ‘shithole’ and go work at the family winery like a _proper_ prince.”

Finally turning to Gimli, Legolas asks, “Did you put him on hold?”

“Yes, before I told him he’s lucky I haven’t managed to drag you off to _my_ family’s mine. _Yet_.”

Legolas lets out a chiming laugh. Aragorn grins, because he knows neither of them is going anywhere. Bending down to set the dress in a separate pile next to Aragorn, Legolas murmurs, “For later.” He pecks Aragorn’s cheek, then flitters off to likely tell his father there’s not a chance in Mordor he’ll ever leave Aragorn’s side.


End file.
